


The Things We Did and Didn’t Do

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Relationship, Bodyswap, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends to Lovers, Hand Feeding, Kissing, Light Angst, Missing Scene, Other, Sharing a Bed, a pune or play on words, that's what happened, they kissed, what happened when they went back to crowley's place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: They go back to Crowley's after the world is saved, and truths come out that weren't intended but needed to be said.Featuring an argument that probably should have happened another time, an immense amount of repressed love, Aziraphale being smart in the ways he's best at it, Crowley being smart in the way's *he's* best at it and, finally, a celebratory glass of port.Or: what happens that night before they swap bodies -- and what happens after a nightengale sings in Berkeley Square.





	1. The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this just to stop *picking* at the damn thing, but honestly I'm pretty proud of it too!
> 
> Immense thanks to [Big_Edies_Sun_Hat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Edies_Sun_Hat) for zeroing in perfectly on what wasn't working on the first draft, and helping this story be SO much better, and Aziraphale and Crowley that much more in-character.
> 
> Title is from the Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs, the most perfect album of love songs ever created.

_You can stay at my place._

Aziraphale trailed behind Crowley into his building, nodding hello to the concierge at the front desk. They waited for a lift, went up, and Crowley let them into his flat.

He wasn't tired, precisely, for ethereal creatures didn't get tired the way humans did. And it wasn't as though Aziraphale needed to sleep. But he felt old. And worn out. The world had ended, but not.

His bookshop was gone. This reminder had him stumbling over nothing, Crowley's hand suddenly around his arm, catching him with hard strength.

“Angel?” 

Aziraphale shook his head. “Do forgive me, dear boy. It's nothing a cup of tea won't set right.” He'd had the bookshop for not even three centuries. He could start over. He'd done that before, so very many times.

Crowley steered him down the corridor and stopped dead. “Oh,” he said, and Aziraphale looked up, finally pulled out of his head. What a dreadful friend he was, to be so wrapped up in himself.

“Ah? _Oh_,” he said, as the feel of the air hit him, Heaven's chill. He looked down and his arm shot out, pushing Crowley behind him, getting between the demon and the edge of the holy water, not yet evaporated. “Crowley!” 

A snap, and the floor was dry, and Aziraphale could breathe again.

“Thanks,” Crowley said heavily. Aziraphale's hand was still on his chest, and he felt Crowley's heartbeat under his palm. “That was Ligur,” Crowley added.

“Well, it isn't anymore,” Aziraphale said grimly. He knelt and touched the ground, and carefully un-blessed it, made it neutral once more. 

He stood again, shaking his hand a little – that always stung.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, and reached for his hand in concern.

“It's safe for you now,” Aziraphale said, deliberately ignoring the kindness. If Crowley was _kind_, he would shatter.

Crowley frowned, and took Aziraphale's hand in his own anyway, but it was unmarked. “Thank you,” he muttered, letting Aziraphale go. Perhaps Crowley was close to shattering too.

_I've lost my best friend_ . Aziraphale remembered the words, and the awful, aching sound of Crowley's sadness in the middle of filling the teapot. Instinct took over and no water was spilled, but he also held on to the counter tightly until his heart worked again. 

The tea brewed, and he poured them each a cup. Crowley had a cupboard of perfectly coordinated, very beautiful, hand-thrown mugs. It was completely different from the bookshop, where Aziraphale generally had to dig around to find something that could be cleaned without first having to soak overnight. His mugs were mismatched, sometimes ugly, all of them dear to him.

Not anymore, he remembered. It was all gone. He would have to start again.

Grateful for the sterile beauty of Crowley's kitchen, Aziraphale filled a tray and carried it out to the huge, cold living room.

“Here we are, my dear,” he said, trying for a bit of Blitz spirit. After all, when all was said and done – they persisted. And so there should be tea. He had brewed it just as they both liked it, hot and strong, two sugars for Crowley and milk for himself.

“Thanks, angel.” Crowley took his mug and draped himself on the sofa, one leg thrown up over the back, the other folded against his chest. Aziraphale was used to Crowley taking furniture as suggestions at best, and sat neatly on the other end.

The hot drink helped. Crowley's flat, familiar but not beloved, helped too. Aziraphale had been here a few times over the years, but generally they met in the bookshop. Looking around, Aziraphale wondered if these hard, cold surfaces were even comfortable for Crowley. Certainly not as comfortable as his haphazard antiques, at least for napping.

Those were gone now, he reminded himself. It was...distressing. He was used to people and places and things passing in and out of his life, but his shop had been different. And Crowley, of course, but he was eternal, always there. Even when he slept for a century, he  _existed._

They nursed their tea in silence, lost a little each in their own thoughts.

“What next?” Aziraphale asked, as he poured them out fresh cups.

“They won't be happy with us,” Crowley said.

“No. No, I rather imagine not.” Aziraphale thought of Sandalphon. The way the angel had taken his breath away with a single punch. He reckoned that would quickly turn insignificant in comparison to what Heaven would do to him, and shivered.

“They won't hurt you,” Crowley said fiercely. “I won't let them.”

“Nor...nor I you,” Aziraphale said. He didn't know how, and he was sore afraid, but Hell would have to go through him to get to Crowley. “We can't run away, Crowley. They'll find us.”

“No.” Crowley had taken off his glasses, and pressed his hands to his eyes. “I know. We have to stay and fight.”

“No,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “We can't win that way. Neither of us are that strong. But we're _smarter_ than them.”

Crowley snorted. “Not hard on my end. But angel, you really think --”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, you were right. I'm stupid about some things. But so is Heaven. And they're stupider about more things than I am.” He offered Crowley a watery smile. “And you're...you're usually right, where I'm wrong. We make a good side, the two of us.”

“Ah,” Crowley said, and stared into his tea. 

“We'll have tonight at least, I think,” Aziraphale said after a long pause. “They need to plan for us, after all.”

“S'pose so,” Crowley said.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” Aziraphale told him, perhaps a little more forcefully than he meant.

“I'm not worried about _me_,” Crowley hissed at him suddenly. “You've already discorporated once! I couldn't _find_ you, you bastard!” He put a hand up to his eyes, but not fast enough.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale's soft heart broke. “Oh my dear.” He set his tea aside and reached out for Crowley.

They had embraced before, of course. As two mostly men-shaped beings, they had followed local custom, and human ways. Customs had changed, though, and they had fought, and Aziraphale couldn't remember the last time he'd even touched Crowley this much. More than a century, he realized with a sharp pang. Far too long.

“I'm so sorry,” he murmured “I'm _so_ sorry, my darling. It was all my fault, my foolishness. And I scared you so terribly.”

“I thought they had killed you,” Crowley mumbled.

“Never,” Aziraphale promised him. “I'd never leave you like that.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley's head, forcing himself to not think on it too much. It didn't work.

They had kissed too, of course, hundreds of times. Not as beloveds – that time Aziraphale was helping Crowley out by being a lady's maid caught snogging said lady was for a temptation. A  _fun_ temptation, mind, but enjoying such things wasn't really on, so he tried not think about it. Or the sensation of Crowley's face buried in his breasts.

“You can't promise me that,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale pulled himself back to the present with the pain in his friend's voice.

“I can't,” he admitted. “But I can promise you I'd do anything to stay.” Another kiss to Crowley's tawny head. He smelled like burned things, so Aziraphale stroked his hair and vanished the smoke and the soot and the stink of Hell and a burning car.

“Thanks,” Crowley muttered.

“I'm sorry about the Bentley,” Aziraphale said.

“It was a good car,” Crowley said, folding himself up and pulling away. It felt colder, for all that Crowley was just beside him. “Sorry about your shop.”

Aziraphale firmly did not let his lips tremble. “Well, there are other shops in the world.”

“But they aren't _yours_,” Crowley said.

“No. But they could be.” Another deep breath. “Crowley, what can we _do_?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, and failing entirely.

Crowley shook his head. “We think of something. You put that clever brain to work, and we think of something. We  _win_ .” 

Aziraphale was painfully aware of Crowley's body right there, the faint warmth he gave off, the fainter smell of his cologne. He ached, like had hadn't in years. He'd spent so long pretending, certain that he couldn't love a demon. Certain that this was what friendship felt like and nothing more. Knowing the truth of his own heart now was a dirty trick for the world to pull on him.

“And we get some food into you,” Crowley said, his voice gentler now. “A cup of tea won't do, angel, not at all. And then we rest. They won't come for us tonight. Too much to plan, and they're not as smart as us, so that gives us time.”

Aziraphale nodded again, and took a deep breath. “And after-”

“We'll get you a new shop. And me a new car,” Crowley said. His voice was heavy and sad.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I mean, if you truly want to, but.” He smiled, barely. “We can do anything we want, Crowley. Together, I mean. Our side, right?”

Crowley blinked, stunned, and Aziraphale noticed his eyes were golden, no attempt even at human iris and sclera.

“I'm so sorry,” Aziraphale said softly. “I've been a trial for you.” 

“You-- a _trial_?” Crowley sputtered. “Angel, what the fuck are you on about? You're my _best friend_.”

“Doesn't mean I'm not...difficult.” Aziraphale made a frustrated noise. “Oh, Crowley, stop, I do have self-awareness. I'm stuffy and I like what I like, and I like it to be just so. I'm never as good as I could be,” he tried to explain. “And I go too slow.”

“Or I go too fast,” Crowley countered. 

“It doesn't matter,” Aziraphale said. “Nothing else matters until we know we're free. That's the only thing we should be thinking about.” Words unspoken: I cannot let myself fall in love until –

But that was the worst of it, wasn't it? Either he let himself go, let himself tumble and trust his heart and chance loving and losing, or he kept on. Kept his heart sealed shut and gave into fear as always, and risked never having even a memory. Risked never giving Crowley a memory of what had been building for six thousand years.

“What kind of an angel are you, anyway?” Crowley said, and his voice startled Aziraphale into looking up. Not afraid, never afraid of Crowley, but there was a sharpness that Crowley rarely turned on him.

“What?” he asked.

“What kind of an angel doesn't _love_?” Crowley demanded, and Aziraphale had a dizzying moment wondering if Crowley truly could read his mind. “I've watched you, Aziraphale. For six thousand bloody years, I've watched you open your heart to the whole world. Oh, this one's different, I thought. This one cares. He _loves_. He's not like the other ones.”

Aziraphale's jaw dropped. “I-- I don't know what you're talking about!” he sputtered. Why were they having this argument  _now_ ? They should have had it a decade ago, or tomorrow or literally any time but  _that exact moment_ .

“Oh, come off it! Tell me one thing Michael loves in the whole universe?” Crowley asked.

“God!” Aziraphale said proudly. “She loves God, of course.”

Crowley threw up his hands. “Oh, yes, very brave, to love an ineffable being who doesn't even bloody  _show up_ when you ask them to! Very easy to love something that claims to love you back, and only talks through mouthpieces.” He shook his head. “No wonder the Quakers are so bloody weird, at least they refused the mouthpiece and went right to the source.”

“How did Quakers come into this?” Aziraphale said. He was dizzy with Crowley's words, and needed a moment. Needed to take in a world where he was strange and not like the other angels, but where this was a _good_ thing.

“Never mind them,” Crowley said. “I'm talking about you. Just bloody let yourself _love_, will you?”

“No,” Aziraphale said slowly. “No, I don't think that's the problem, Crowley.”

“Oh _really_,” Crowley hissed. “What is, then?”

“I love just fine,” Aziraphale said. “It's being loved. That's the hard part. As you'd know.”

“I don't know what you're on about,” Crowley said, but his voice was starting to waver.

“You do! You bloody well do, demon!” Aziraphale turned on him, exultant to have the upper hand. Or at least an _even_ hand, and Crowley was just as afraid as he was. “You're just as bad! You love the whole world, but won't see when it loves you back!”

“It?”

“Fine, _me_.” Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath, because he'd finally been honest and it hurt and it was terrifying. “You don't see when _I_ love you back.”  
“Because you don't. I know. It's all right, angel.” Crowley's voice was even and calm and tender, and it killed a part of Aziraphale. How long had Crowley thought this? How many times had he had to repeat it to himself, to be able to say it _casually_? If Aziraphale had believed for a moment that Crowley had stopped loving him...

Then again, he was weak and soft, and this showed it again. But he could do something, if he was very very brave, so he was.

“Oh my dear. It isn't all right at all.” Aziraphale reached for Crowley's hand, cradling it in both of his like it was an injured bird, something to be held tenderly and protected. “If I didn't love you back, nothing would be right. But I do, you know. I have for so long.”

Crowley closed his eyes tightly. “If you're wrong. If you're not telling me the truth.  _Aziraphale_ .”

“I would never lie to you about this. And I won't pretend it never happened tomorrow. I won't...deflect. I promise.” Aziraphale took another deep, ragged breath. This was too much, but they were out of time. For the second time that day. 

The first time, Crowley had been so brave and so strong, had stopped time so they could talk to Adam. Now it was Aziraphale's turn to be brave, and to be strong. Instead of stopping, though, he pushed forward.

“I care for you deeply,” Aziraphale said, making sure he was understood. “I love you. And I believe you have feelings for me, beyond friendship.” He lowered his head to kiss the palm of Crowley's hand. 

“Yes, I have feelings for you,” Crowley said heavily, watching his head lower. This was all completely wrong; Aziraphale should never lower his head to Crowley, never kiss his hand so tenderly, never love him. And yet, all of these things were true “All of the feelings. Literally all of them. Demons weren't _meant_ to feel this much, I'm certain of it.” He raised his other hand, so that their palms were folded together, so he held one of Aziraphale's hands between both of his. They were soft and square and strong, and his ring was warm against Crowley's skin.

“Angels were,” Aziraphale said. “We just don't. Oh, Crowley. I love you. I mean I really _love_ _you_.”

Crowley gave a full-body shiver. “Tell me again.”

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, feeling bolder. This was _his_ domain, anyway. Well, sort of. Mostly. Heaven wasn't much about love for specific things or people, but Aziraphale had pretty well ignored that from the start. This was a rebellion he was used to at least. “I love you. I love that you sleep, and I love how you love the world. I love you for rescuing me all those times. I love you for rescuing my books even though you pretend to hate all forms of print media and always have. I love how gentle you are with me. How kind.” He pressed his thumbs into Crowley's skin, making him feel the truth of it. “I love you, and I'll tell you anytime you ask.”

Crowley's flat was silent, not even the sound of breathing in the cold walls.

“I haven't said it back.”

“Hmm?” 

“I didn't say...those words...back,” Crowley repeated. His voice was low, face cast down. “Doesn't that make you love me less?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “It doesn't.”

“It should.”

“Have you not yet figured out that I don't do what I should?” Aziraphale smiled when Crowley pulled back to give him a look for the ages. “Even Heaven worked that one out.” He laid a hand on Crowley's cheek and smiled into his eyes. “Silly demon. I don't need _words_.”

“Oh, right. You can feel it,” Crowley said heavily.

“Yes, and also I have eyes. And a brain.” Aziraphale touched his thumb just under Crowley's eye, admiring how lovely it was, even in the cold, harsh light. “Darling. I _know_. It's all right. I love you no less.”

Crowley nodded, looking lost and exhausted. His poor beloved; it had been a long and terrible and wonderful day.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “May I kiss you?” His courage was running out. His courage would never run out. They might be dead tomorrow. They might live together forever. There were too many unknowns, and Crowley was his side now.

“I. Uh. Yes?” Crowley said. “Yes. If you...want?”

Aziraphale tried to say something smooth and tender and worthy of the moment, but his mouth was dry and his throat froze and instead he just nodded, a little too hard to be anything but desperate and slightly scared. He gently let Crowley's hands go, and reached for his shoulders instead, drawing his demon's narrow frame close against his, encircling him. Holding him so carefully, so loosely, watching him all the while until he leaned in and closed his eyes and kissed Crowley.

It had been so long since they had last kissed, and never was it a lover's kiss. This one was, in all its nervousness and care. Aziraphale owed Crowley so much; not least this. To be the one to speed up. To be the one to show him he was loved and wanted and cherished, all with this one simple motion. It was extraordinary, the things humans came up with.

The kiss ended silently, but Aziraphale didn't let Crowley go, and he slowly realized that Crowley's arms had come around him, too. Held him carefully. Held him the way you held something much-loved, and were afraid of losing.

Aziraphale settled a little deeper into Crowley's arms, and considered what it meant to let himself be loved.

“What now?” Crowley asked softly. He shifted a little, and wondered why he'd bought such a deeply uncomfortable sofa. Of course, kissing Aziraphale on it hadn't really been something he'd considered, when he was decorating.

“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked, and thought, and blushed a little at where his thoughts first went. Oh, he was a glutton. Crowley had been right to ask what kind of angel he was. “Ah. you said something about food?”

“Oh! Er. Yes.” Crowley paused for a good-sized demonic miracle, and a rather large platter of sushi was _very_ surprised to find itself in his kitchen, instead of about to be served to some men who...oh yes, _they_ didn't deserve such nice things. “In the kitchen.”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but stood anyway and held out his hand for Crowley; it was unthinkable to eat alone, although Crowley likely wouldn't join him in actually eating, just as Aziraphale probably wouldn't sleep tonight. But it was important to do these things together. He was pretty sure, anyway. Or he  _wanted_ to, and that was good enough.

Crowley took his hand and stood up. “I love you,” he blurted out, and immediately covered his face in his hands. “Shit shit shit shit-”

Aziraphale froze in place. He felt like his whole body was blossoming. Crowley  _loved_ him, he really did. Someone loved him, and that someone was his best friend, his own beloved, and he'd  _said_ so, that meant it was real. Not that it hadn't been real before, but hearing the words...

He made a sound, raw and joyful and desperate, and drew Crowley into his arms. Gentle. His demon boy deserved so much gentleness, and had more than earned it. Aziraphale tamped his feelings down, corralled them carefully. It was his turn to take care of Crowley, and he found it settled deep into his bones, the most natural thing he could imagine.

“I know,” he murmured. “I love you too, darling. It's all right, Crowley. Everything's all right.” He smiled, the beginning of an idea forming. “I promise. Come on, I'm getting peckish.” This usually brought Crowley back down to earth, and it did this time as well. He only trembled a little as Aziraphale took his hand and they walked to the kitchen together.

“_Crowley_.”

“What? You deserve it more than the people who were going to eat it!” Crowley protested. 

Aziraphale sighed and followed the demonic thread – oh. Crowley wasn't exactly wrong. A small miracle made sure the sushi was paid for, with a hefty tip. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed Crowley's cheek, since they did that now, even if it made his heart stutter a little. “I'm famished. Come, sit with me.” He pulled two chairs together at the table, and guided Crowley to sit down. “I know you don't eat much, but indulge me?” he requested, after picking a particularly nice bit of nigiri, and holding it out to Crowley.

Crowley looked at him, a little dull-eyed, but leaned in and let Aziraphale feed him the sushi.

“Good?” Aziraphale asked, one arm around Crowley's shoulders.

Crowley nodded.

“Wonderful.” Aziraphale ate the next piece, and then gently fed Crowley the piece after that. He kept this pattern up, feeding them both, until Crowley had eaten his fill – not very far into the meal, but then he didn't often eat very much, and Aziraphale was content. Possibly because Crowley communicated that he was done by cuddling tightly into Aziraphale's side, face pressed into his shoulder.

Aziraphale ate slowly, savouring the subtle flavours. There was a small cup of sake that he sipped from now and again, but mostly he ate, and felt himself come into his body. This was his first meal in this corporation, he realized, and he was pleased he could share it with Crowley.

He finished the fine meal, and Crowley kindly returned the platter to wherever he'd gotten it from with a snap.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “I feel much better. Perhaps I needed a good square meal to really settle into this body.”

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale rested his cheek on the top of his head for a moment. “Let's go to bed. We've had a terrible day, but things will look better in the morning.”

“Will they?” Crowley asked. His voice was heavy and rough. “Really, angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said firmly. “They will. Come on, no arguing, up you go.” He pulled Crowley to his feet. “Now, where's your bedroom?”

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and led him down a corridor. The master bedroom was giant and echoey and extremely beautiful, in a kind of lacquered way. Aziraphale was beginning to see why they spent so much time not-here. Why  _Crowley_ seemed to practically live at Aziraphale's place, or in his car.

Crowley changed into pyjamas, while Aziraphale shed a few of his outermost layers, winding up in socks, trousers and shirtsleeves.

“That's not really comfortable for sleeping,” Crowley pointed out, lips twitching.

“Who said I plan to sleep?” Aziraphale looked at the bed critically, arranged a few pillows, and sat back on them, very comfortable indeed. “Well, come on. I got what I needed, now it's your turn.” He patted the bed beside him, having absolutely no idea where this courage and sureness was coming from. With any luck, he'd ride the wave of it through this latest crisis, and then he could be a nervous, fussy old fool again. He was looking forward to it.

Crowley would still love him, a small voice whispered.  _That_ wasn't going to end, and the thought was so huge and so wonderful. He gently tugged Crowley a little closer, until he was pillowing his head on Aziraphale's thigh.

“That's it, my dear,” he encouraged. “Get a little sleep. I'll look after us. And think. I have...the start of an idea,” he said slowly, not wanting to get hopes up.

Crowley nodded. “Clever angel,” he said, his eyes already closed.

Aziraphale stroked his hair until he was sure Crowley was asleep. He stilled his hand, but left it resting on Crowley's dear head, and indulged himself.

Asleep, the demon was lovely. He was lovely awake, too, but he was  _aware_ then, and it wasn't the same. Crowley  _posed_ . Sure, there were rare times when Aziraphale caught him relaxed and un-self-aware, but those were few and far between. It wasn't that Crowley wasn't genuine – he was honest and blunt and extremely ready at all times to bitch to Aziraphale, often  _about_ Aziraphale – but he had learned that someone was always watching. 

Crowley's head was pillowed on Aziraphale's thigh, and he lay curled on his side. Aziraphale could see his freckles like this. Some humans had come up with the idea that freckles were where angels had kissed you, and since he'd first heard it, Aziraphale had happily given scores of babies both a kiss of blessing and a spray of freckles. He liked to think that it was his kisses, of greeting and friendship and trust, that had lead to the subtle dapple across Crowley's cheeks.

Aziraphale smiled down at his beloved demon, at this thing that had blossomed between them. They would have to win.

This knowing set his mind wandering, working its way down careful pathways, considering, dismissing, finding the holes in his own logic as he went. He had the whole dark night ahead, with the warm weight at his thigh to ground him and keep him from wandering too far, or getting lost in a side concern.

It was just before dawn that Aziraphale thought he might have something that would work. It was born of Agnes' words, of course – of the final prophecy that he'd pulled from the air. And from his own words, because it  _had_ been a shame he couldn't have just hitched a ride in Crowley's body. It would have been so nice, to be in that familiar frame, but it wasn't to be. Not while Crowley was in there too, at least. But  _two_ bodies for two beings – that opened up options.

Crowley stirred just past dawn, and Aziraphale watched him wake. If this all worked, he would get to have this other mornings. If it didn't – well. They would still have this moment.

(Aziraphale was greedy, and he knew it. He wanted infinite mornings spent watching Crowley wake up, of hearing his breathing quicken, the way he rubbed his head on Aziraphale's thigh, the way his hand tightened for a moment on Aziraphale's leg. Anyone would be greedy for such a thing.)

“Mmm. Angel. Y'r here,” Crowley mumbled.

“Where else would I be, my dear? Even if you weren't pinning me down.” Aziraphale traced a fingertip down Crowley's face, and slid down the bed to pull him into an embrace, and a sleepy kiss. “Good morning, Crowley. I know how to save us.”

Crowley smiled, his eyes still closed, and he nuzzled close. “'Course you do, clever angel.” He yawned, and blinked and his hair neatly arranged itself, his face no longer sleep-blurred, but open-eyed and wide awake. “What do we need to do?”

“Be very smart, and very careful,” Aziraphale said. “Know one another. But I think we can do all of that. We're going to be taken back to our respective offices to answer for our crimes. Be made an example of. They like flashy stuff like that.”

Crowley nodded. “That sounds like my lot. No simple smiting for them.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “And I shall be put on trial most likely, made to answer to the whole of Heaven's orders. There will be defence and prosecution and legal arguments, but I can't deny that I went against direct orders. So I will be found guilty, as you will be.”

“They won't just discorporate us,” Crowley said slowly. “They'll _destroy_ us, angel.”

“They'll certainly try,” Aziraphale said, rather smug now. “With the thing that would destroy us each, utterly – holy water for you.”

“And hellfire for you.” Crowley sat up and frowned. “I don't know if I can protect you against that. I can't – don't ask me to fail at that, I couldn't stand it.”

“You dockle, do you think I wouldn't have a _plan_?” Aziraphale cupped Crowley's face in his hands and kissed his brow, a blessing of a sort. He expected to find freckles there, the next time they took a little sun. “I'm not giving you up, or letting you be destroyed. But I _can_ protect you, and you can protect me. If we switch bodies.”

Crowley went stock-still. “Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh,” Aziraphale agreed. “Holy water can't hurt your body while it's holding an angelic presence.”

Crowley started to smile. “And hellfire won't hurt me. Might feel rather good, actually. Bit like a massage.”

Aziraphale laughed, and pulled him into his arms. “See? I think we can do this, Crowley. We'll have to pass as one another, but I think we can do it. Don't I know you nearly as well as I know myself, by now?”

Crowley squirmed his way into Aziraphale's lap, coiling around him as best he could not as a snake. “They're going to be horrible to you, angel. To me. Whatever. Promise me you won't let them get to you?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “Of course not. I'll be _you_. I'll be cool and invincible and I'll be fighting for us every step of the way, the way I fight best.” He sighed. “Heaven will be very dull, I think.” He frowned suddenly. “Oh. Oh, Crowley, I never thought--”

“What?” Crowley asked, alarm growing. If Aziraphale had found a hole in his plan, if it wouldn't work, it was getting too late, they were getting _fucked_...

“You'll be back in Heaven,” he said softly. “You've been there before. Will it be too hard for you, love? We can figure something else out. We ought to. Oh, I was thoughtless and cruel and this is a terrible idea.”

“Shhh.” Crowley laid a fingertip over Aziraphale's lips, and failed entirely to hide the shiver he felt at that. Besides, the back of his brain was still busy pulling a jumper over its face and running around hysterically because Aziraphale had called him _love_. “Stop. It won't be too hard for me, it won't hurt me. I'll be fighting, just like you will be.” He smiled bitterly. “I don't miss it. It won't be like going home, or anything like that. In and out, and back here, with you.”

Aziraphale took a breath. “I don't miss it either,” he admitted. “It's...it's a hard place.” He looked down at himself. “Especially if you're soft.”

“You're perfect,” Crowley said quietly, sliding his arms around Aziraphale and pressing close. “We should switch soon, angel. I don't want to get caught out.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale agreed, and tilted his chin up for a kiss. “I love you, darling. No matter what else happens, I love you.”

“Nothing will happen,” Crowley said sharply. “We'll swap bodies, and fool our old sides, and meet again. I'll take you to the Ritz for dinner, when it's all over.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Aziraphale said. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Crowley said, and tilted his head and leaned in. For how would they do this, but with a kiss?

Aziraphale breathed in, then out, and pushed off, like slipping into a river, being caught by the current. He felt Crowley do they same – each of them on a side of the river, trying to get to the other side, passing in the middle. Their essences mixed, and they floated there for just a moment, and for eons, wrapped together, breathing, blending their edges. Truly, it wasn't clear where one ended and the other began, until they had to part and make for the other side, a little breathless and a little glowing from being more intimate than any other beings ever could be.

He blinked his eyes, and pulled away, and smiled at his own familiar face. “Oh, hello there.”

Crowley shook his head, ran his tongue over his teeth, took an experimental deep breath, and finally nodded. “Well, step one a success.”

Aziraphale smiled and looked down at himself, whipcord body and silk pyjamas. His back was cold, exposed to the world, but where they were still touching was like hugging a sun-warmed rock. “Oh, Crowley. Are you always this cold?”

“Not exactly. I don't notice it.” Crowley reached for another kiss, and they both giggled, startled by the sensation of, in effect, kissing themselves. “Oh, come on! I can do better than that!”

“Cheek!” Aziraphale swatted him, or tried to, and missed. “Oh, bollocks.”

Crowley laughed, went to kiss him, and mostly got it on target. “We'll have to get used to new dimensions fast.”

Aziraphale nodded. “No one to show us the way,” he said, thinking fondly of Madam Tracy. “Well, we can start with breakfast. Surely you have coffee and things for buttered toast at least?”

“Um,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale sighed.

“Cafe it is,” he said, and got up, falling more fully into this temporary corporation. The body moved itself pretty well, if he didn't concentrate too hard.

The next hour was a little touch-and-go; Aziraphale whacked his head on a low sconce and Crowley managed to trip over nothing whatsoever and land flat-out on the floor.

“Sorry,” he said, as Aziraphale helped him up and fussed over him. “Might get this back with a few extra dings.”

“Never mind that,” Aziraphale said, checking for any real hurts. “Just get it back to me. And you in it, please. Does anything hurt, love?”

“No.” Crowley touched Aziraphale's cheek. His own cheek. Whatever. “You're a soft landing, dear boy.”

Aziraphale blushed, and Crowley laughed, pleased with himself. Being in this beloved body was...nice, he decided. Really, really nice. Aziraphale's corporation was heavy and warm, rooted to the earth. The  _hips_ moved properly! He never had got the hang of hips, although Aziraphale seemed to be doing all right in his body.

By the time they went out for breakfast, they were both reasonably comfortable, or at least had stopped dropping things and walking into doors. They had made some attempts at mimicking the other, to mixed results.

“Honestly, my lot won't notice,” Aziraphale finally admitted. “Not like they've much cared before. Long as you're soft and disappointing, they'll buy it.”

Crowley frowned, but also had to admit Aziraphale was right. “My side might be trickier,” he said. “They don't have much love for me, but they're vicious bastards.”

Aziraphale nodded, and tried to be a little more Crowley-like. It didn't go great.

“Maybe just try for the sarcasm,” Crowley suggested, after watching Aziraphale try to lounge.

They made it through breakfast, and agreed to part for the day, as they would have done if they hadn't averted Armageddon, admitted their love for one another, and swapped bodies in anticipation of dual executions.

“Meet at St James' to check in this afternoon?” Crowley asked, trying to be both casual and uptight. He had given up on mimicking Aziraphale's posture before he even started.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, working on being cool and snakey and emotionless. “Ta ra, then.” He gave a casual wave, turned, and walked away.

Crowley understood. If they kissed, if they touched, even a handshake, it would be unbearable. It wasn't  _fair_ , they  _loved_ each other, but then nothing was fair. So he turned and headed towards Soho, to see what remained of the bookshop.


	2. The Night After

“Come back to mine?” Aziraphale asked, when they had given up lingering over champagne and cake. 

“A nightcap'll be just the thing, thanks angel,” Crowley said, and blushed when Aziraphale, bold as anything, reached for his hand and laced their fingers together.

“I'm assuming I've still got something drinkable somewhere,” Aziraphale said. “But also – to stay the night? I _do_ have a bed.” He paused. “Somewhere.”

Crowley laughed and squeezed his hand. “We'll excavate it. And yes, your port stores are untouched.” He smiled. “Mostly.”

Aziraphale clucked a little at him, but didn't fuss too much. He'd hit up Crowley's whiskey collection himself, pot calling kettle black and all of that.

They walked back to the bookshop, hand in hand, and Crowley got the distinct, special joy of watching Aziraphale's whole body light up when he saw everything back, solid, real and unburned. It had been strange to go into the shop alone, to remember the flames and the feeling of Aziraphale  _gone_ , but now Crowley held his hand a little tighter, and watched his eyes go wide as he took in his collection restored to him. 

Aziraphale caressed the spines of a few books, and gave a soft laugh. “Those are new. Thank you, Adam.”

Crowley didn't quite let him out of arm's reach as they made their way to the back room, keeping one hand on Aziraphale's side, or touching his arm to point something out. He was back here, his favourite place in the world, with his favourite person, and he was damn well going to appreciate it.

“Oh, come here,” Aziraphale finally said, and settled them on the sofa with glasses of port, the bottle safely within arm's reach. Crowley immediately curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder as he took in the shop, perfect and homely and so loved. He couldn't sense it like Aziraphale could, but he _knew_.

“Oh, my dearest.” Aziraphale rested a hand on the back of Crowley's head for a moment. “I never saw it burned. You did. My poor boy.”

“'s nothing,” Crowley muttered. “It's over. You're here.” He could see the place where the water had knocked him over, knocked the breath out of him, made him scream in rage at the world that his best friend had been taken away. He turned his head so all he could see was the expanse of Aziraphale's chest, the bottle of port, the comforts of the little back room.

“I certainly am. And so is this place.” Aziraphale smiled. “And so is the Bentley. Shall we go for a drive tomorrow?”

“Anywhere you want, angel,” Crowley promised, and his heart eased a little more. 

They drank in peace, then. Not quiet, exactly – London hadn't been quiet for millennia – but it was a comfortable background hum through the sturdy shop walls. Aziraphale idly dropped a kiss atop Crowley's head, and Crowley shivered and  _couldn't_ talk for a few moments.

“I can't believe _this_ is real,” Aziraphale murmured. “I mean – the Anti-Christ is the most human of boys. My shop is restored, and my body, and your car. These things I can conceive of. But that you go easily into my arms, that you _welcome_ such a thing....”

“Shut up,” Crowley said, and turned so he could get an arm behind Aziraphale's back. “It's real. We're real. And we're not going back.”

“Well, of course not,” Aziraphale said. “Never. I couldn't give you up, couldn't give _this_ up, for anything.” He smiled into Crowley's hair. “I _love_ you.” He spoke it into the universe, daring the universe to try and fuck them over. They could take on anything now.

Crowley gave a kind of whole-body shudder, and kissed Aziraphale suddenly, the two of them sharing the flavour of port on each others' mouths.

“I'm so in love with you,” Crowley murmured onto his skin, and got to hear Aziraphale's breath catch, the little sound of pain and joy in his throat. “I think I always have been.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Aziraphale found his mouth with kisses.

He was  _comforting_ , above all. A soft, tender, protective harbour in a world Crowley loved but didn't always understand. 

“I thought I was unlovable, until you,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley made a rough, raw sound in his throat.

“I did,” he insisted. “And God's love doesn't count. She is...too ineffable.” He smiled. “You're effable, though.”

Crowley paused. Was the moment broken? Was that maybe for the best? He wasn't sure he was going to enjoy where this might go. Aziraphale believing himself unlovable opened a howling void in Crowley's heart, made him want to scream and light things on fire and go too fast.

“Oh for goodness' _sake_,” Aziraphale said, when he realized what he'd said. “You are a child.”

Crowley cackled, and swung a leg over Aziraphale's thighs so he could sit astride his lap. He gave his angel a sip of port from his glass, and sipped likewise, making sure to put his lips where Aziraphale's had been.

“I'm _eff_able, huh?” he drawled.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, sounding exhausted already. “You're extremely fuckable, Crowley. Hah, didn't expect that, did you?”

Crowley coughed until the port was no longer in his sinuses. “No wonder you could fool everyone into thinking you were me,” he wheezed. “You're a bigger git than I am.”

“Thank you, I do try,” Aziraphale said modestly. “Might've been an actor, had things gone differently.”

Crowley tried to picture that. Well, chewing the scenery was a valid acting choice. And actually a very appropriate one for Hell, when you thought about it. “How was it, anyway?” he asked. He was definitely not going to forget about the whole 'I thought I was unlovable' thing. But they'd been through enough that day. He settled for watching Aziraphale's face, for letting him see the adoration on Crowley's own. He'd abandoned his sunglasses ages ago; what did he have to hide anymore anyway?

“I've told you most of it. It was...Hell. I see why you don't like going there,” Aziraphale added, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh dear, were the walls particularly sweaty?” Crowley asked. “It's always extra-manky when the HVAC doesn't work.”

Aziraphale made a face. “Ew. I didn't notice. Just that it was cold.” He draped his arms around Crowley's waist. “You feel the cold worse than I do,” he said quietly. “I thought about that.” A soft kiss to Crowley's collarbone. “And about how clean your flat is, and how the things you have in it are all beautiful. The things you love most, I mean.” He sighed. “And there was a whole  _trial_ . Not a fair one, of course, but I did have to stand through a recitation of the whole Anti-Christ...thing. Very dull, no one even offered me a chair! Not that I would have taken it,” he added. “Anyway, it was very boring, and everyone was very stupid.” He paused thoughtfully. “No, wait. Not everyone. Beelzebub – she's not dumb, is she?”

“No,” Crowley admitted. “Most of them are, but she's a bit clever. Dagon too. You were smart to scare them. They'll take it seriously.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Oh, that was such fun. Pretending to be cool and careless.” He winked. “Effable.”

Crowley groaned. “Oh no. This is not to become one of those detestable private couple's jokes between us.”

“_Crow_ley!”

“I mean it,” Crowley insisted. “We're disgusting enough as it is.”

“Softy,” Aziraphale said, face lighting up with delight that he'd found a new way to irritate the love of his life. “Speaking of. Was Heaven very dull?”

“Eurgh, yes,” Crowley said, shuddering. “Cold too. Why can no one have central heating, honestly? But mostly dull.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, they're rather stupid on my side, too. Well, who was the prosecution? Uriel?”

“Huh?”

“For my trial. There's always a trial,” Aziraphale explained. “Very proud of their bureaucracy, Heaven. I assume Gabriel stood as judge? He enjoys that. Specially the red robe.”

“Angel,” Crowley said gently. “There was no trial.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked. “Oh, that seems very irregular.”

“I was tied to a chair – you saw how they bound me,” Crowley continued. Very softly – Aziraphale was still tender. Still newly-freed from his obligation to Heaven. Crowley was going to have to watch out, to be so careful with him. Someone being careful with his heart was the very _least_ Aziraphale deserved. “I was untied, and there was hellfire. Gabriel was a dick. I stepped into the hellfire, and you know the rest.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “No trial.”

“No trial,” Crowley said, and kissed his brow. “I tried hard to be you. Quiet and collected and confident. You're smarter than all of them, angel.”

Aziraphale gave a bitter smile. “Perhaps it's good none of them know me, then. Sounds like they would have marked you in an instant if they did.” He sighed. “Well, now I know we're safe. If I didn't even rate a trial...” A soft huff of a laugh. “I really am useless to them.”

“To _them_,” Crowley said fiercely. “Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them, not seeing what they have. They can jog on. You're my angel now, and I'm your demon, and we don't need them.” He hugged Aziraphale fiercely. “I can love you more, and better, than the lot of them.”

“I never doubted, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “Only. Excuse me, I just need a moment.”

Crowley loosened his grip, thinking Aziraphale might want to get up, pace, go make some tea. Instead, though, he got an angel holding him even tighter, Aziraphale's face pressed into his chest. He stroked Aziraphale's hair and kept one hand on the back of his neck, protective and comforting, until he felt him relax.

“Right,” Aziraphale said. “Well, they won't care about me even more, now.” He smiled softly. “So much for the power of a principality.”

“What are you principality _of_, incidentally?” Crowley asked. “Still the Eastern Gate?” 

“Oh, probably,” Aziraphale said airily. “Not really come up though, you know. But mostly – well, queer people. They're mine, and I am theirs.”

“Of course. Oh, of _course_. How perfect.” Crowley kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley? I would like it very much if you held me while we slept tonight.”

“Anything you like, angel.” Anything to make you happy, make you smile, know you are lovable and loved. Crowley touched Aziraphale's cheek, a little caress, and reached for the nearest glass. It was so much easier for them to share, anyway. And more fun.

They finished off the glass of port, and another, talking less now, but holding their bodies together as much as possible. The night settled clear and comfortable, and finally Aziraphale led Crowley up to his bedroom, the bed hardly touched except as a particularly comfortable place to read. They undressed together, and crawled beneath the duvet. And, as promised, Crowley took Aziraphale into his arms.

“I can't imagine not loving you,” he murmured, there where it was safe in the dark. “I wouldn't know how to be.”

Aziraphale made a soft sound, but Crowley just held him a little closer, trying to wrap his body around Aziraphale's. Wings helped, for they made the angel sigh and go easy in his arms, fully cocooned in Crowley now.

“Sweet dreams,” Aziraphale murmured as he drifted off. And so they slept, the night before the first day of the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com
> 
> Also if anyone else spent too many nights out in Cardiff, I headcanon Hell as smelling and feeling *exactly* like Metro's. How we all did not get a disease just from walking in there, I will never know.


End file.
